


Inferno

by Aurealis



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Legolas is his life, Parent Thranduil, Thranduil's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4812428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurealis/pseuds/Aurealis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas is trapped in a burning house. He does not make it out in time. Thranduil's worst fear is about to come alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inferno

**Author's Note:**

> The fatherly side of Thranduil fascinates me. I refuse to believe he is merely a cold-hearted tyrant. He may be strict and isolated but even in Hobbit movies you could see he cares for his son. This was born from musings about Thranduil and how he would feel when facing every parent's worst nightmare.  
> Thank you to my beta SayaEvange!

Inferno

 

When Thranduil arrived at the scene, he grimly realized there was little anyone could do. The village, inhabited by a hundred elves, was going to be completely lost before the morning light. The raging red and orange flames were a stark contrast against the dark trees and deep blue night sky. No house, no hut, no barn had managed to avoid the inferno. 

He descended his elk and looked around. All around him refugees had gathered in groups. Shock was evident on their faces: children were crying in fear while adults attempted to mask their feelings. Some were helping throw water and sand on the flames although most of the work fell on the King’s guard.

“Report.” The King approached one of his most trusted guards, with Galion on his heels. The Elf snapped to attention.

“So far, we have no casualties.”

The lines around Thranduil’s mouth tightened but he could not arguer the word choice wasn’t appropriate. “How many are unaccounted for?”

“I can’t say with certainty, My Lord. We’re still getting people out of the houses.”

The King let his eyes wander around the area. Some of the houses had already crumbled to the ground, reduced to nothing but black, ashen wood. Yet, a few still stood, for now. Thranduil knew that the most they could do now was to make sure everyone was safe and then focus all their efforts on stopping the fire from spreading to the trees.

Then his eyes spotted a group of warriors outside a two-story wooden building. He rarely had a chance to witness his son in action and he cherished the moment. Most news he had gotten of his son’s progress and capability to act as a captain of his own unit had been received through reports which only outlined each mission. They left out many things that Thranduil yearned to know: did Legolas feel like he belonged; did he handle stress well; did he ever doubt his abilities; did he miss home? 

His connection to Legolas had wavered tremendously as the Elf had grown. It was normal, certainly, and Thranduil could remember being quite a handful for his father at Legolas’ age. What scared him was that neither had any idea how to mend their relationship.  
Legolas’ eyes met his and the young elf made his way to his father.

“The door is blocked.” Legolas wiped soot and sweat from his face. “But we heard voices so whoever is inside is still alive.”

Thranduil nodded and watched as the warriors manage to make an opening and help out an Elf-maiden. She was in shock, breathing erratically and something in Thranduil’s chest tightened: he recognized the hysteria was not only from losing a home.

“My child is still there!” The woman grabbed Legolas’ arms to get his attention. The prince’s eyes widened and the other warriors tensed; children were extremely dear to their race and the thought of losing any was horrendous. “I have to get her!”

Legolas gently grabbed the woman’s arm. “I will get her,” he reassured the woman. “Where is she?”

“Second floor. She was sleeping.” the woman placed a hand over her mouth, tears running down her cheeks. Thranduil instinctively unclasped his cloak and wrapped it around the woman’s shoulders.

“We will get her,” he rephrased his son’s statement, keeping his voice comforting yet strong enough to feed the lady’s trust in them. He turned to face his troops. “You two accompany him.”

“No.” Legolas shook his head. “I will get her out quicker on my own.”

“That’s too dangerous,” Thranduil growled. “The floor might give out.”

“It won’t if only one goes up,” Legolas said and ran off before his father could say another word. He heard Thranduil order him to come back but his sense of responsibility was to his people first. If he-- no, when he managed to safe the baby, Thranduil would soon forget about his recklessness. After all, he knew the King would grieve the loss of another life. 

The heat hit him with incredible force. The flames felt like they were burning under his skin. The smoke was thick and inhibited him from breathing properly. He sincerely hoped it would not damage his lungs. With effort, he was able to navigate through the furniture and dizzily hurried to the second floor. There were two doors, both closed.

“Is anyone here?” Legolas called and curled around his middle, trying to control his coughing. Then, he heard it-- a soft cry. It was a sound so weak only an elf could have heard it. It came behind the door right in front of him. Legolas knew from his training that turning the handle was not an option unless he wanted to burn off his skin. Instead, he pushed the door open by using his body weight and stumbled into the nursery.

He found the baby girl in her crib. He tried to make soothing shushing voices to calm down both himself and the child. With haste yet tenderly, he wrapped the child into blanket and started to make his way to the staircase but the fire had crept up the walls. The ashen wood was not able to hold its own and with a loud crush, the stairs crumpled, leaving the two elves standing on the landing.  
Legolas gulped and shifted the baby girl in his arms. The child whimpered softly but did not erupt into full-blown crying. He walked to the window and looked out. Their army was still trying to smother the flames but was coming to the realization that their efforts were in vain. 

The building was going down and there was no stopping it.

“Legolas!” His captain yelled and ran with a couple of other elves underneath the window. Legolas looked at the baby again and pressed his lips to the child’s hot brow.

May the grace of Valar protect you.

“Catch!” He shouted after ensuring the blanket was tightly wrapped. With swiftness and care, he dropped the baby to the waiting arms of his captain who caught the bundle with ease. His heart lighter, Legolas set his foot on the window frame and set his hands on both sides of the wall.

Yet, the weakened wood on the floor could no longer bear the weight of the elf. 

Thranduil recoiled drastically as Legolas disappeared from view. He barely heard the scream that was soon drowned out by the raging fire.

“Legolas!” Thranduil screamed. He was about to run to the burning building when Galion caught his arm.

“You can’t go in there!”

“Legolas needs my help!” the King fought against the hold.

“You are our King and we need your leadership.”

“He is going to die in there!”

“So send someone else to help him. You are the commander.”

Thranduil fought his fatherly instincts to knock the man out. Yet, in his heart he knew Galion had a point. He was needed to keep the situation in order. He could not afford emotions to rule over sense. 

“You!” He turned to a pair of soldiers who snapped to attention. “Go help the Prince!”

The pair of warriors disappeared to the burning building. The King tried to keep his breathing in order. He needed to stay strong and calm. He needed to pray for his son.

After a few minutes, which felt like hours, the warriors returned. The other put out a flame in his hair.

“He is trapped under a beam,” he coughed. “We can’t lift it. But if we amputate his ankle he will die of blood loss.”

The King hesitated no more: he was a commander of the army but above all, he was a father and his child was dying.

If he lost Legolas, he would lose his reason to live.

If it was to end in fire, he would willingly burn with his son.

Without heeding Galion’s calling or the shocked shouts of his troop, he ran and with his arms over his face, jumped through the flames.  
The heat brought back memories and the wounds on his face stung. Thranduil still remembered the stink of burning flesh and the agonizing pain that made him scream. But he could not afford to fall back into his trauma. He had to find Legolas.

It was difficult to breathe. Thick smoke blocked his airways and his eyes watered. There was not enough air to keep his mind functioning. He tested the bond he had with his son and tried to locate him in the inferno. He could not scream Legolas’ name, it would cost him too much air. He was already coughing every few seconds. 

His eyes widened as he noticed an unmoving figure lying directly in the spot under the upstairs window. A heavy beam kept his foot trapped; his ankle bones were visible and dried blood stained the wooden floor.

“Legolas.” Thranduil knelt beside the figure and placed his hands on either side of his son’s face. The boy’s eyes were closed, his mouth partially open. None too gently, he slapped his cheek, calling for him once more. 

Did he only imagine or could he see eyelids flutter? 

He would never know where he got the strength to push the tough piece of wood away. It was heavy, far too heavy for one elf of even his strength to move. No one would ever believe him as he told this story later but it felt like Gods were lending him their strength. Maybe they realized that letting two elves live was better than having them both suffocate in the smoke. 

Of one thing Thranduil was sure; if he had not been able to free Legolas, he would have stayed with him nevertheless. He would have continued to struggle until his body had no strength left.

But, miraculously, he managed to push the beam away from the boy’s ankle. He looked at his son’s face, hoping for some reaction but Legolas had not even flinched at the pain. With fear in his heart, Thranduil knelt and lifted the boy into a sitting position. He prayed aloud; he urged Legolas to hold on and stay with him as he hoisted the unmoving body over his shoulder.

Eventually he made it outside and with Galion’s help set Legolas on the ground. As some fellow warriors started to work on the broken ankle, Thranduil knelt on all fours and nearly coughed his lungs out. He tasted ash and fought against the urge to gag. Once he got his breath back, he lifted his gaze to see Galion staring at him gravely, with pity in his eyes.

“The Prince is dead, my Lord.”

Thranduil’s eyes widened as he took in the information. No, Legolas could not be dead. He had got him out; he had to be alive!  
He pushed his butler away from the scene and with frantic worry placed his ear by his son’s mouth and nose, trying to detect any little wave of air. He waited and prayed but he felt nothing on his skin, no momentary warmth. Thranduil’s breathing quickened: his fingers shook as he probed the neck, leaving ash marks on the milky white skin. There he felt life spark within the unmoving body. The trace was faint but even and he would not let it be lost.

Thranduil was no healer; he was a warrior and therefore healing had never been his specialty. Yet, many years in the field had taught him a thing or two. He went through a list in his head of what he was supposed to do.

“Now,” he whispered to himself, trying to keep the quiver from his voice. He placed his hand under his son’s jaw and the other on his forehead. “Head back.” he adjusted Legolas’ head into a better position. 

“Open mouth.” he checked briefly there was nothing blocking the airways. “Close nose.” he pinched the nostrils closed so no air escaped. He could not remember if there was anything else but figured it would not matter. If he got air into Legolas’ lungs, he would be of help.

Drawing his lungs full of air, Thranduil placed his mouth over his son’s lips and blew gently. Legolas’ chest rose and Thranduil cheered briefly in his mind. He might not be Elrond but he could do something. Once he heard the last of the air escape, he gave Legolas another breath. He locked his moist lips with his son’s dry and chapped ones. 

“Legolas.” he slapped his son’s face harshly, trying to bring him back to consciousness. The boy’s skin was red from the heat and the slap gave him another mark. For a moment, Thranduil remembered how his comrades had looked in a battle against the dragons. His own skin had been burning and inflamed…

Gulping down the anxious thoughts, Thranduil adjusted his hand under his son’s neck and breathed for him again. He repeated the procedure once more before remembering another detail from the list. Cursing his own incompetence, he moved his hands to Legolas’ torso and loosened the strings of the tunic.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Legolas who made no reply. He opened the outer clothing, revealing a silvery shirt. Despite the situation, he could not help thinking how he and Legolas had always had different styles in clothing and color choices. Whereas he, as a King and a representative of his people had always favored strong and flashy colors reminiscent of those of jewels, Legolas was more comfortable with earthy tones. If he ever had to wear anything ‘regal’, as the young Elf put it, it was always in official situations or, as in this moment, out of sight. 

Thranduil snapped out of his thoughts and gave his son another breath. 

Legolas stayed immobile. The delicate fingers did not twitch, the eyelids with dark lashes did not flutter in awareness and his mouth did not move in consciousness. As he checked the pulse again, Thranduil noticed no movement from Legolas’ legs. He raised his gaze to the young warriors and gave them a glare demanding an explanation.

“My lord, it is no use unless he regains his breathing,” A warrior with dark brown hair, looking much like their Noldor kin shook his head in remorse. “The bleeding has stopped but there is no reason to use our limited supplies on-“

“On what?” The King thundered. “Fallen? Dead? A corpse?”

The young elf lowered his gaze, unable to answer.

“You can’t even say the word. If you can’t say it, there is no reason to ignore your duties,” Hiss voice was now a menacing whisper which carried all the gravity of the issue. Galion tried to say something but he ignored his Butler’s annoying whimper and focused on Legolas. As he lifted his head from another liplock, Thranduil refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

“He is not dead until his heart gives up. Now set the bones in place. I don’t want him to go through any more pain.”

For a moment, they all just focused on their duties. The warriors cleaned the wound carefully and twisted the bones into the correct position. They wound a lot more than they needed to; they hoped the stimulation would help Legolas return to the land of the living. They did not know whether it worked. The King was silent the entire time, only focusing on giving his son the air he desperately needed. 

“My Lord,” Galion tried to call to him but Thranduil refused to listen. The butler kneeled down to his master’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Thranduil.”

That word caught his attention. Galion said the following words carefully, trying to take the edge out of them.

“He is not waking up. Who knows how long he has not been breathing. Even if he wakes up now, there is a chance that there has been some permanent damage.”

Thranduil tried to convince himself that the words were a lie and keep tears from forming in his eyes.

“It is best,” Galion did not heed the obvious shaking, “that you let him go.”

The King and his butler had never had an easy relationship; two different minds and differing perspectives on life had always been hard to match. In that moment, the long years of pent up frustrations and current crisis were enough to send Thranduil off the edge.   
He slammed his elbow into Galion’s face, sending him to the grassy ground.

“I’m sick and tired of your attitude! Why are you even here? Give up and leave if that is what you want!”

“Thranduil, I just think that you are not being objective in your decisions. Your mind is not always set on what is important in the big picture.”

“I don’t need other people to tell me of myself and my motivations. I am your King!”

“A true King is always on the lookout for the good of his people. Now, you are only thinking of yourself. Maybe it was meant that Legolas would perish here.”

“No,” Thranduil grit his teeth. “It would be so had he been alone. But he has me for help. And I am not giving up for as long as I draw breath.”

Thranduil glared at his butler. There was no way he could ever explain to him the bond between a parent and child.

“It’s your choice,” Galion whispered sadly with his eyes fixed on Legolas who stayed unaware of the heated conversation. After his King’s command to leave, the old Elf walked to the warriors who were trying to smother the destructive flames with water and sand.

Meanwhile, Thranduil could not deny that he was losing hope.

“Legolas, Tithen Las,” he whispered urgently, smoothing the boy’s golden, now slightly burnt hair from his face. “You must wake up. Open   
your eyes. It’s time to wake up, Legolas.”

The young elf gave no reaction as his father gently ran his fingers over the features he knew by heart. Legolas’ face was the perfect combination of the best traits of both his parents. In his mind, Thranduil saw the reflection of his late wife lying on a white funeral bed. Helaina’s death would have destroyed him had he not had a small elfling clinging to his hand 

He could lose anything in Middle-Earth and he could get over it: his treasure, his palace and kingdom, but if he lost Legolas there would never be any reason for him to wake up in the morning.

“You can’t do this to me!” He shook his child by the shoulders, Legolas’ head lolled limply from side to side. “Legolas! I order you to breathe! You can’t leave me like this! Legolas!”

Thranduil knew his hysteric screaming brought him an audience but at the moment, he did not care. He paid half a mind that everyone saw him lose his cool appearance. As a King, he had always been careful not to show emotions to anyone but his closest circle. Now, his solitary role was casted away and he was only a father going through anyone’s worst nightmare.

With a sob he could not hold in, Thranduil sank down and touched Legolas’ forehead with his own.

“Please,” he whispered, tears dropping onto Legolas’ cheeks. “Come back to me. Ada loves you. Ada needs you. Please, please, Legolas. You need to fight.”

Thranduil lifted his head and wiped the tears from Legolas’ face with his thumbs, leaving wet spots on dry skin. He was not ashamed of them but knew they would be no good. He locked his mouth over his son’s lips once more and resumed the now too familiar pattern.   
He would not give up until he had no more strength left in him. As long as he drew breath, Thranduil would not cease to share it with his son. He had given the boy life and would make sure Legolas would never lose that gift.

In the middle of chaos Thranduil once more breathed for Legolas but abruptly jerked his head up. Had Legolas’ lips just moved? He looked for more signs.

Then Legolas’ fingers twitched.

Thranduil lifted his gaze on his son’s face and before his eyes, he saw the young elf’s throat contract as if in an effort to swallow.

“Legolas.” the father took his child’s face between his hands. His heart nearly set ablaze as Legolas turned his head to the voice while closing his mouth reflexively.

“Breathe, Tithen Las,” Thranduil smiled keeping his tone encouraging and massaged the young elf’s chest to help his efforts. “Just breathe and it will all be alright.”

Underneath his palm, he felt the unused muscles tense as Legolas drew air on his own. 

Then, Legolas started to cough fiercely. The raspy sound echoed in the clearing accompanied with wheezing as the irritated throat and lungs tried to take in air. With a shushing sound, Thranduil lifted his son into sitting position, letting the wounded elf lean against his chest. 

“Ada’s got you,” he whispered into the golden hair as he alternatively rubbed and tapped his son’s back, willing the fit to cease. “You’re alright. I’m here, I’m here.”

Legolas brought his right hand up and clutched at his father’s tunic. Even in his confused state, he knew this Elf. He recognized the body and the scent. That voice he had heard even before his birth. He remembered playing with the long golden hair as a baby. His rescuer set a loving kiss on his temple; he had received many of those in his childhood.

Once his coughing had subsided a little, Legolas drew his head back, his long hair cascading over the older Elf’s arm. He needed only a moment to look at that face to come up with a name to go with it.

“Ada,” Legolas whispered his voice weak and raw from the stress he had been under. Yet, to his father it was the most beautiful sound he would ever know.

Thranduil could not stop the tears anymore. He wrapped the person in his arms into a tight embrace, yearning all his love to show through his actions. 

“Oh, Tithen Las,” he choked on the nickname as he rocked his child back and forth. “I thought I had lost you.”

Only then did Legolas catch the reek of smoke and noticed how torn, ashen and burnt his father’s clothes were. The tired eyes widened in realization.

“You came to get me?” His voice rose as the truth hit him and Thranduil kissed his forehead.

“Of course I came. I will always come for you.”

 

 

Legolas grunted and tried to position his ankle on the pillow better. It had been some ten days after the accident and the injury still had not healed. Constant pain reminded him of how close he had been to losing his life. Even after making it back to the palace, he had been lying in the grips of intense fever for days. The open wound had been infected and irritation in the lungs had been agonizing. Thranduil did not admit it, but his son could sense it had been touch and go for a while.

Luckily, life was returning to normal which for Legolas meant familiarizing himself with some documents that were needed in tomorrow’s council meeting. He had always found the divan in the royal family’s sitting room the most comfortable reading spot, especially after a stroll in the garden. 

He was so immersed in the task that the sound of the door opening was lost to his ears.

“Have you really read all of these?” Thranduil inquired and indicated to the rather high pile on the couch table. 

Legolas shrugged and gave his father a beaming smile: “I was bored.”

“It usually takes me twice the time.” Thranduil was clearly impressed.

“That’s because you have the attention span of a squirrel.”

His father mock-laughed while sitting himself down in an armchair in front of the fire. “Aren’t we just witty today?”

Legolas lazily dropped the rest of the documents into the pile: “What can I say, I learned from the best.”

Thranduil nodded with a sly smile but his expression turned into one of concern as Legolas got up on his elbows and rubbed the tightly wrapped ankle.

“Does it bother you?” He asked gently. Legolas looked at his father’s eyes, debating for a second whether to admit weakness. Eventually, he nodded.  
“It is not really hurting, just-“

“Sore,” Thranduil guessed and sat on the divan, lifting the injured ankle on his lap. He inspected it with his long fingers, feeling the mending bones. The recovery was going along fine but the leg was still too weak to take on much weight. 

“Did you use the crutches?” He asked and Legolas nodded but then added a shrug.

“I tried to make do without them, but my ankle started hurting too much. I won’t do it again.”

“Wise decision,” Thranduil muttered. ”I doubt you want to be put back to bed rest.”

Legolas was about to respond but sharp pain in his ankle made him hiss. Thranduil probed the injury some more. Then, he loosely wrapped his hands around the ankle and began an enchantment in Elvish. Words of old streamed from the Elf’s mouth as he aided the healing. He masked the pain and relieved tension. Pleasant warmth filled the stressed muscles and Legolas relaxed against the pillows. He looked at the fireplace, his father’s words pleasant in his ears. He was lost in the moment.

A knock on the door woke him up abruptly. Someone got up and for a while, Legolas looked around the place he was in, not fully registering what was going on. Soon he found he was still lying on the couch but the covers had been drawn over him properly. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, the young elf assumed he must have fallen asleep during Thranduil’s healing session. He had no idea how long he had been sleeping, but guessed it had been some time ago; many of the documents he had been reading were now on Thranduil’s side of the table.

The person in question crouched next to him and shook his shoulder gently: “Legolas, someone wants to meet you.”

A bit awkwardly, Legolas turned to look to the door and straightened up as he saw the Elf lady he had helped.

“I am sorry to disturb you, my Lords.” She bowed courteously while her arms held her child. The baby was looking around the room in interest; the blue eyes took in every little detail and her little mouth was open in awe.

“Isn’t it a lovely palace,” the woman talked to the baby while mimicking her expression. Thranduil felt his heart melt at the sight: a part of him missed the baby talk and the wonder children viewed the world with.

The girl saw Legolas who had sat up properly and babbled.

“She likes you,” the woman laughed and at Legolas’ permission, gave her daughter to the young elf. Legolas knew in theory how to be with a child but he had never had much contact with the youngest of his kind. Thranduil felt remorse at his son’s awkwardness; he had always wanted another child but his wife had been killed too early for it to happen.

“I wanted to thank you both,” the woman said with tears in her eyes. “For bringing me my child back.”

“There is no need.” The King shook his head kindly. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“I have never been so terrified. When I could not get to…“She covered her mouth with a slender hand. “I felt like I had failed her.”

“I understand your sentiment. Having children means constant worry. ”

“I know that now,” she nodded. “I saw you; we all witnessed your fear. I knew you were a parent but that fact never seemed to play any role in your life. At that moment, I realized that- you’re one of us.”

Thranduil turned his eyes to his son who was playing with the baby. They were two beings blessed by the most unconditional love. 

“Could you please take her back? I think she might like to bite my nose off.”  
The desperate call broke Thranduil’s thoughts. He chuckled and eased his son’s burden by taking the child into his experienced hands. Apart from the hair and gender, he could almost imagine he was once more holding Legolas during his babyhood.

“Enjoy these moments,” he told the mother like only another parent could. “Soon she will be breaking hearts.”

The pair left and the King was left in solitude with his Prince.

“Ada?”

“Hmm?” 

“Could you help me?”

Thranduil sat beside his son and went over a particularly tricky trade agreement document. It was in Westron, a language Legolas was familiar with but not exceedingly so. But he was an eager student and quick to learn, listening to Thranduil’s words with attention his father never had. The older Elf could not remember the last time he felt so at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never studied Elvish so the phrases are just the most common ones. Reviews are most welcome!


End file.
